


a fish hook, an open eye

by simaetha



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Hatesex, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simaetha/pseuds/simaetha
Summary: The words lingered like honey in the air, resonating, spoken in the sweet dark voice to which Elwing had spent all afternoon sayingno,andno,andno.Fëanor's daughter Maglor attempts to negotiate the return of the Silmaril.





	

"What beautiful children you have."

The words lingered like honey in the air, resonating, spoken in the sweet dark voice to which Elwing had spent all afternoon saying _no_ , and _no_ , and _no_.

Elwing spun, hand rising to her throat.

Maglor was looking, not at her, but at Elrond and Elros, and her face was all longing. The jewel-light caught the bones of her face; her eyes, rapt.

She appeared not to notice the guards' hands falling to their swords.

"Get her out of here," Elwing snapped, and Maglor raised her hands, expression shuttering itself with a smile.

"Peace," she said, smile still twisting at the corner of her mouth. "Lady Elwing - "

"You had _best_ have good reason - "

"I thought," Maglor said - all charm, now - "that we might speak. Far be it from me to deplore an audience! But there are things, perhaps, that one might say more easily when there are fewer ears to hear them."

The golden-voiced daughter of Fëanor: when she spoke, you found yourself listening, whether you wished it or not. Of course they had sent her. (Did they really think her fool enough to believe a woman less a threat, Elwing thought, on a swift rush of anger -)

The Silmaril glowed warm through the flesh of Elwing's hand, a weight against her chest.

And yet -

Maglor's smile, her poise, were almost flawless, even stood as she was in worn travelling-leathers, hair damp from the rain outside. Her manner was confident, her mouth crooked with just the right degree of self-awareness. The flicker of her eyes to the jewel Elwing wore, the effort it took her to keep her gaze from it, only became apparent if you knew to look.

Even now, it made Elwing's heart speed, anger covering her fear. Sirion had so little, her people those who had fled rather than fought -

Elwing would never have heard the Fëanorians out at all, given her own will: there was nothing they could say that she wished to hear. But Elwing had no freedom for self-indulgence.

"Come," Elwing snapped, and pulled the Nauglamír from her throat, tugging impatiently as the links of the metal caught in her hair. She turned, and where Elrond stood wide-eyed, holding his nurse's hand, dropped it over his head.

"My lady – “

"Guard them with your lives," Elwing said, her voice steady. "Let none come or go. And if Maglor Fëanoriel should return without me - " she did not like to say it, in front of the children, but - "then kill her."

Hesitation. Then she saw the guards nod.

Maglor raised an eyebrow, her glance flickering over Elrond and Elros. Tension crawled up Elwing's spine; but she turned away, as if she had no doubt Maglor would follow, and after a moment heard the other's step behind her.

Even with her back to Maglor, she forced herself to keep from showing relief at the sound of a guard barring the door.

"A pretty drama," Maglor said, after a moment. "Lady Elwing, I have no desire to harm your family - "

"Will that stop you?"

A pause, the steps still padding behind her. Don't look round, Elwing thought.

Then she was at the door to her own chambers, and pushed it open. She hated to have the other there, but there were so few places for privacy.

"Well?" Elwing asked, trying not to notice the creased sheets on the bed, and the battered doll Elros had left fallen half-under a chair. " _You_ wished to speak to me, Fëanoriel - "

There was an odd look on Maglor's face, as Elwing turned to see her. It was not quite shame, but had something of its features.

"Well?"

"I wanted to speak honestly," Maglor said, at last. The other woman's brows had drawn together in a frown, as she glanced around, letting the door fall closed behind her. "Lady Elwing - "

A moment, when she stood poised, biting her lip. Her gaze might have fallen on the doll.

In the dim room - it was always dim, without the jewel - she looked older. Elwing found herself reminded, unwillingly, of her husband's kindred, and the way they looked at her children, the weight of hope and fear.

" _Not while Eärendil is at sea_ , you told me," Maglor said. It was a little startling to hear her own cadences repeated in Maglor's voice, the Noldorin accent almost falling away. "Would your answer change, if he came back?"

 _No_ , Elwing drew in a breath to say, but -

It was easy to have Eärendil as an answer, while Vingilot needed the Silmaril's blessing, while she could force a smile before Noldorin lords and claim she could make no decision without him. It was harder to think that - that for all she had no belief she could trade the jewel for their safety, that for all the Fëanorians were kinslayers and murderers and they had _killed her brothers_ , how could she trust them to keep any promise they made - and yet -

"I thought so," Maglor said, watching her face; and again, that slight, crooked smile. "Doesn't it gall you, to have to say, _if my lord husband wishes_?"

Elwing bit her tongue. "If all you have to say is to repeat my own words back to me," she said, evenly, "then this will achieve very little. What else have you to _tell_ me, Fëanoriel?"

She did not want to think it of herself, that she was as blinded by the jewel as _they_ were. That all her careful weighing of need and fear and trust came only to the same, childish, _but I want it, it's mine_ -

And yet how could she be _sure_. Doubtless Maedhros Fëanorion had lies he told himself as well.

A tilt of her head, and then Maglor straightened her spine, looking Elwing in the eyes, the smile gone.

" _Please_ ," Maglor said, in her voice like music, and Elwing found herself startled into stillness.

"What are you _saying_ \- "

She stepped closer, spreading her hands. Elwing did not like her so near, but forced herself not to back away.

"Do you want me to beg? Then I will." The smile flickered again. Died. "Elwing Dioriel, _don't make me do this_ \- "

Elwing took a single step forward and slapped her.

She was shaking, all over, anger and fear curdling in her stomach. Maglor was raising a hand to her own cheek.

"We already made all of our choices," Maglor said, after a moment. "But you, Elwing - _you_ could still give a different ending to this tale - "

She raised her hand again, and reached out, fingers coming to rest gently at the line of Elwing's collarbone, while Elwing tried not to flinch. Maglor's touch was cool against the hot trembling of her skin.

"How can you _ask_ \- " Elwing tried, her voice starting to break. _My father, my mother, my brothers_ , she thought. _My children_ -

She could barely remember Doriath. All that was left of it was terror and ruin, arms holding her too tightly, and the glimmer of jewel-light over stark branches and dead leaves.

Fingertips touched her cheek, very lightly. Maglor's eyes were dark, expression touched again with that strange longing; her lips parted a little, as if surprised.

"You could do _better_ ," she said, earnestly. Elwing could almost feel the words resonate through her. "Elwing. You could be better than _us_."

" _Don't_ ," Elwing managed. She could hardly find what she wanted to say, wanting to lash out, flee, something, _anything_ else. "We _need_ it - what else do you think I _have_ \- "

"But you could have anything you want from me," Maglor said, a little breathless. "Elwing - "

She was standing within arm’s reach; they were almost of a height. Maglor only had to lean in, a little, to kiss her.

Elwing - stilled, trembling.

It was gentle, then insistent, as Maglor tried to coax a response. Her skin felt cool, tasted of the rain outside. Unsteadily, she tried to stroke Elwing's hair, the sleek strands slipping through her fingers.

Elwing was - it had been so _long_ since Eärendil had left -

And any weakness Maglor Fëanoriel offered, she would _take_ , Elwing thought, fierce and desperate. If this was the weapon that came to her hand then she would _use_ it.

Elwing kissed her back, hard.

She had expected resistance: she did not meet it. Maglor yielded, at once, with a small, melodious noise, as Elwing pressed her mouth against the other’s.

It was awkward, at first. Elwing licked her lips, and tried again, tilting her head, digging her nails into the curve of Maglor’s hips. Maglor murmured encouragement, and Elwing pulled her close.

Maglor's eyes had closed. She was smiling.

A quick step forward, shoving her thigh between Maglor's to push her stumbling against the wall.

She was -

Elwing drew away for a moment, breathing hard, and watched Maglor catch her breath in turn. The other met her gaze: mouth curving upwards, helplessly, something soft and open in her face.

"Elwing - " Maglor said. Elwing realised it was delight she could hear in the other's voice. "Ask me for anything - fairest, star, jewel - "

She traced the line of Elwing's face, the down of her cheek, her eyes wide and dark, pupils dilated.

"What do you think you have," Elwing snapped, "that I could _want_?"

Maglor laughed, still breathless, enchantment in her face.

"Come with me," she said. "Elwing! Keep the Silmaril, let me keep _you_ \- Lúthien could have been no lovelier, Melian no more regal - no jewel such as you should be cast aside in the reeds and the mud - "

"My _children_ \- "

"Your children will be as princes among the Eldar," Maglor said, earnest. "I am no half-mortal vagrant, to leave them uncared-for while I roam away."

Her voice was like song.

"You misunderstand me," Elwing said, coldly, watching Maglor's expression. "I would rather see my children dead than raised by murderers."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, still tasting the other, and resisted the urge to spit.

"I - "

The shock of realisation was only slowly stealing over Maglor's features.

"How _can_ you," Elwing said. She was as angry as she could ever remember being. "You took everything from me and you come to me and tell me you will take _more_? Kinslayer, _thief_ \- "

Maglor tried to speak. Elwing kissed her, again, to silence her, hearing the low whine Maglor made as she kissed back.

" _Anything_ ," she hissed, and yanked at the lacings of Maglor's tunic, half-tearing the rough cloth. "What do you _have_? What do you have _left_? I want nothing from you and you _have_ nothing, you have dispossessed us all - "

It was not enough, it could never be enough. Elwing let her teeth scrape over the other’s neck; harder, when Maglor whimpered at the near-bite. 

She _wanted_ –

Her own pleasure burned like acid at the back of her throat. She twisted her fingers into the worn linen of Maglor’s undershirt, tugging, and set her mouth to the hollow of the other’s throat, the thin skin where her tendons shifted above the clavicle.

Lower.

Elwing bent to mouth the curve of the other's breast, teeth sliding over the soft flesh, leaving wet marks flushed into it. Maglor made a thin, broken sound, shuddering against her, fingers clutching at her hair.

"Elwing, Elwing, _please_ \- "

It was not difficult; she knew well enough how such things went. Elwing reached down, and Maglor whined again, spreading her legs and tipping her head back, panting.

If she could have nothing else then she would have _this_.

"I _hate_ you," Elwing said, vicious, and felt Maglor arch, tensing, breath coming out on a ragged cry that could almost have been pain.

She stepped back. Maglor stared at her, pushing herself up against the wall, shaking.

" _Go_ ," Elwing said, her voice flat, as Maglor tugged at her clothing, trying to rearrange the torn fastenings. The red marks of incipient bruising were starting to show at her chest.

"I will give you anything for it," Maglor said, at last, her voice finally starting to break. "Elwing, please, I don't want to - "

Elwing wiped her fingers against her skirts.

"Don't tell _me_ you have no choice," she said, cold with contempt. There was _nothing_ , she thought, that the other could say to her; nothing at all.

"Get away from me, Kinslayer. You have nothing you can give."

***

Morning. Grey mists.

The Silmaril shone at Elwing's throat as Maglor Fëanoriel bid her farewells, her voice filled with gentle sorrow; a promise and a threat. Alas, that the people of Sirion could not see their own interests -

Elwing sat her makeshift throne and watched her eyes go back to the jewel; and back, and back, again.

Maglor met Elwing's gaze, and stammered, abruptly, to a halt.

“Go,” said Elwing, softly, and watched it ripple through her audience as Maglor bit her lip, mouthing for words that failed to come, and turned to leave, beckoning her escort after her with a jerk of her head.

It was no victory.

 _My children_ , Elwing thought, her own hand rising to the Silmaril; and clenched her fingers over it so hard the jewel almost cut into them, watching Maglor as she walked away.

 


End file.
